In the Long Run

The invitation to the women’s “Spa Night” promised a night of relaxation and stress relief. I thought my friend Helen could use some “me time”, so I asked her to go with me to the activity. She had some reservations.

“Oh, I’m kind of a homebody,” she protested. “After work I like to change into my grubbies, and just kick back and watch TV by myself.”

“Come on! It will be fun!” I coaxed. “We’re going to be pampered, with foot massages and stuff like that. And listen, there will be a chocolate fountain! What woman can resist??”

Helen was still hesitant, but reluctantly agreed.

On the way to Spa Night, Helen voiced more of her concerns. “How many people will be there? Will it be crowded?” My friend feels a bit claustrophobic when in large groups of people in small rooms.

“I doubt there will be more than 15 or so women there,” I cheerfully reassured her. “And we will be dividing into small groups for different activities.”

As we walked into Spa Night, I knew we were in trouble. The odorous candles burning produced a powerful scent even in my estimation, and Helen has a near allergic sensitivity to strong perfumes and scents. She gasped a little, and her eyes got really big. “Are you OK?” I asked nervously. “Uhm…I …uhh…think, uhh, it will be all right.” Helen smiled wanly, but I could tell she was already overwhelmed.

Spa Night was very popular. Soon there were nearly 25 enthusiastic ladies pressed together in our hostess’s cozy living room, chatting noisily, and squeezing by to warmly greet each other. Helen and I stood on the outskirts of the group, and I could see in her face the panic welling up inside. She looked faint, and a bit nauseated.

I hoped that the division into small groups would provide her some comfort and relief, but she didn’t make it that far. “I can’t do this!” she whispered. I had already reached the same conclusion about her, and steered her around the crowd and out the front door without anyone even really noticing our exit.

In the car on the way home, Helen apologized profusely for making us leave, and I apologized in return for causing her stress rather than relieving it. “I really thought it would be a fun evening for us,” I lamented.

I returned to the Spa Night after taking Helen home. I had missed the chocolate facials, and the hand softening procedure, but that did not bother me much. The entertaining Wii Fit hula hoop game was delightful, and made me laugh and play like a little girl. The gentle foot massage with soothing cream was leisurely and pleasantly relaxing. For me, Spa Night delivered as promised.

I wish Helen could have stayed long enough to enjoy the evening’s culmination--the chocolate fountain. I just know that if she had been able to dip strawberries in that rich, decadent chocolate, and then delicately nibble on them, her tension and stress would have been gone. After all, what woman can resist a chocolate fountain?!

Posted by Cyppy at 3:48 PM  3 comments

Grandma wings, bingo arms, turkey drumsticks, bat wings, Relief Society arms. No matter what you call ‘em, nobody wants ‘em. Surely you know of the dreaded condition of which I write..gasp…FLABBY TRICEPS!! (insert Psycho violins here.)

Most women complain that as they age, their fat tissue migrates south and settles on the hips and thighs. My fatty tissue seems to have traveled to my upper arms. My suspicion was verified when, in a recent body composition analysis, my fitness specialist measured the fat percentage of my triceps to be more than that of my abdomen or hips. Immediately I became hyper-sensitive, and began noticing the svelte arms of women around me.

For instance, there’s Jody. She’s a former co-worker who moved away a year ago, and came back to visit this week. I saw her at the gym, tanned and healthy in her casual tank top. I spied right away her well-defined triceps and biceps. And then, as though, she KNEW…she put both hands on her hips while talking to me, and there was no denying her excellent musculature. It was all I could do to keep from staring, or from blurting out covetously, “I want your arms!”

This last weekend I helped with the registration and timing for the annual trail run held in the nearby mountains. The runners became objects of my jealousy, not only because of their excellence in competition, and their fierce determination and drive, but also because of their lean, lanky arms. I am still slightly green with envy a day later.

Do not expect a picture to accompany this post! But do expect that I will continue to do dips and triceps extensions and triceps pushups and Pilates, ad nauseam. Being a grandmother does not mean I must have mandatory Grandma wings!

Posted by Cyppy at 7:57 PM  6 comments

Their names are Jessica and Lizzie, and they are 5-year-old identical twins. They bounced into church before the service, and spread out their crayons and paper on the pew behind me.

“Here’s a picture for you!” Lizzie proudly gave me an abstract geometric design.

“Tell me about your drawing,” I encouraged. I’ve heard one should not insult children by saying “What is this?”, because what may not be plain to an adult is crystal clear to them.

Indeed, Lizzie seemed perplexed as to why I needed to have the picture explained to me. But she smiled indulgently, and said, “I start with an X and then I put a circle on it, and color the circle. See?!” It truly was as obvious as she said. She tossed her two blond braids, and turned back to her artwork. “I love to color!”

Her sister, not to be outdone, announced, “I’m an expert at pictures,” and offered me her creation. She needed no prompting from me to describe the “animal with no legs, just gray ears.”

The two girls energetically completed more masterpieces, and generously presented them to other people seated in the surrounding pews.

As part of the Father’s Day service, the twins sang a duet about fathers. They stood at the pulpit in their frilly, summer-flowered dresses--Jessica in pink, and Lizzie in yellow. With big, innocent eyes, and sincere love on their faces, they sang, “God gave me a dear father, so I would remember His love,” bringing a smile, and even misty eyes, to the members of the congregation. Then they bounded down from the stand, and back to their seats to give their daddy enthusiastic hugs.

Would that we all could maintain the guileless honesty and innocence of these young girls! They remind me that with a fresh, unsullied, exuberant approach to life, the simplest of life’s experiences provide us with the joy that our Father desires for us.

Posted by Cyppy at 6:18 PM  4 comments

My colorful hand-braided bracelet has graced my wrist for dozens of races during my nearly 10 years of running. This 4.2 mile run of the triathlon was my first race in 2008, and so I had ritualistically placed it on my wrist the night before. It’s one of those superstitious, yet comforting traditions that I continue. And so, although the bracelet has virtually no material value, I was unnerved by its disappearance.

I ran back to the car to see if the bracelet were caught in the sleeve of my discarded shirt. No, it wasn’t tangled up in the shirt, or lying on the seat or floor of the car. I checked my watch. Only about two minutes before my friend Ken would come whizzing past the start on his bike, tagging me for my run. I couldn’t waste any more time looking, lest I miss his tag. I nervously and quickly walked back to the start, scanning the ground for my talisman.

And just as I reached the rest of the runners in the group at the start line, I saw it! I snatched the bracelet from the ground and slipped it back on, tightening it a bit. The other runners seemed totally unaware that such a valuable item had been lying in the dirt right under their noses! (But would my charm have worked magic for any other runner anyway?!)

Soon I was off running, feeling the familiar tickle of the bracelet’s yarn ties on my arm. I’d like to say that I was the fastest of all the 6.75 K runners, all due to the confidence and inspiration engendered by my running bracelet. Not quite! But I did run a personally satisfying and competitive race, and our team placed first in our age division. Today my lucky race bracelet is tucked safely away in my drawer with my running gear until the next event.

Posted by Cyppy at 6:19 PM  5 comments

One day last week I looked out the window to the backyard and did a double-take. There appeared to be a small baby perched on the tire swing! I soon realized it was a doll left there by the neighbor girls who come to play on our swings and in the clubhouse, which have long been unused by our children.

My gaze wandered to the nearby sandbox, and I was surprised and a little dismayed at to see how overgrown it had become with grass, weeds, and even a 4-foot tall volunteer elm tree. Thinking that The Little Princess might enjoy the sandbox on a future summer visit, I knew I had an instant Saturday morning reclamation project.

It took more time than I thought it would. I pulled up the grass and weeds fairly easily, but the elm had deep roots. I dug down about 18 inches before I got all the roots which had penetrated the black plastic liner below the sand. I decided to tug out the ripped old liner, and put new plastic down.

At first, I shoveled the sand aside, but then I found it was easier to move it by armfuls. Soon I was down on my hands and knees, pulling the sand toward me, then pushing it behind me. The sand was cool, and slightly moist. There was something soothing about the way it sifted down through my fingers. I found buried treasure--an abandoned toy car, a plastic horse, a play dish, a tennis ball, a blue turtle, a very large rock, a broken Tupperware lid (wonder if their lifetime warranty excludes “sandbox use”?) and a tent stake. (Perhaps the kids had been playing vampire slayer?!)

I looked furtively from side to side. No one was watching. I energetically made some giant piles, and then vigorously punched them down—just moving the sand to the other side of the box. (Of course.) I burrowed my hand down deep into the sand, then pulled it out in a mini earthquake—just testing for the depth of the liner. (Of course.) I took handfuls of sand and threw them to the far side of the box. (Because throwing sand in a sandbox is instinctive.) I mused momentarily on the happy hours my children had spent imaginatively excavating and building in the sandbox.

After working for nearly three hours, I had cleared the sandbox of all the debris, and moved several wheelbarrow loads of sand to my Key Limey’s garden. I surveyed my handiwork, and decided it was fit for The Little Princess, as well as the neighbor girls and their baby doll.

Then I went over to the trampoline and did 15 exhilarating seat drops in a row—just testing the springs. (Of course.)

Posted by Cyppy at 3:40 PM  2 comments